


In All of Me is You

by Resamille



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crushes, First Kiss, Keith is awkward, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: In the midst of it all, they come together. Tempest and starlight.





	In All of Me is You

**Author's Note:**

> Nyohohoh we got permission to post this today and then the klkl discord got excited so here y'all go have fun
> 
> Y'know... Looking at this reminds me that I am never again going to write in past tense. Never. God.
> 
> Anyway this is my piece for the Intertwined Galaxies Klance zine! This was a super awesome project to be a part of and I'm really pumped for the finished project and honestly this was so fun so. Thank you for having me. I loved it. The theme for the zine is water and stars, so you'll probably see a lot of metaphors in here lmao.
> 
> Thank you to Stover, Kitty, and Bread for helping me beta this and probably other people too so I'm sorry if I don't remember you reading rIP

Words were always important to Lance—in a family as large as his, where it was so easy to speak louder and louder to or else risk going unheard in the din of his siblings' rowdiness, he had to learn quickly the value of listening and the significance of communication, either as a weapon or a comfort. His mother always claimed to be a proponent of the latter, while she used the former with care, and she taught Lance how to discern empty words from those that were weighed with intent.

But sometimes, even before being dragged into a war, back when he was naive and life was easy, it all became too much. In a home where it was a simple task to slip away, to go unnoticed because everyone else was so loud, the ocean became Lance's getaway.

He would write in the water, either with the gentle flick of a fingertip just over the surface, or with his entire body, swimming in the vague shapes of letters until his limbs gave out on him and he was forced to pull himself back to shore, chest heaving with exertion but skin warm with satisfaction as he lay on the sand. Lance let the ocean sweep away the words of uncertainty and lingering doubt that would always die on his tongue in the quiet moments of bare honesty in his household.

When Lance left for the Garrison, he found the ocean in his own eyes, staring back at him in the mirror, a shifting impermanence that he clung to with all his being. He let his gaze, wavering with tears as he pulled himself together, wash away the insecurities.

But somewhere between the transfer to the Garrison and being thrown into the shoes of a Paladin of Voltron, Lance had forgotten exactly the force behind his own words. Perhaps because he so often had attempted to guide himself with his own voice, to ground his self-worth in that which he spoke, and the grating fakeness had come back to stab at his heart like knives. Words had lost their meaning. They became useless—tools of frivolity laced with an undercurrent of insecurity. Lance had gotten better at hiding it, but the pain was still there. He had no ocean to sweep away the words he did not want.

His system no longer worked. In space, everything was gone too quick or there too long for Lance to bare himself to the universe, and it left him wound too tight, unable to let go but unable to hold on. He needed something willing to listen—something willing to stay by his side like the ocean always did, though the promise to do so was never spoken and never needed to be.

It was while he watched the stars go by from the navigation room that the realization hit Lance: Keith's eyes held starlight—a fleeting transience in the span of the universe but permanent enough that people dedicate their entire lives to studying, tracking the stars' paths through the galaxies or memorizing the history they hold in their light.

Distantly, Lance thought he would gladly be the first to volunteer for such a task, but deep violet and storm grey warring in a calculating gaze deserve more than a lifetime of dedication and admiration, and certainly more than what Lance can give. Besides, on the list of priorities, saving the universe generally came before crushes. 

  
  


This realization—of stars and untempered grey—hit Lance with the same force as Keith's fist against his shoulder did, awkward in its attempt at camaraderie and unknowing in its own strength, like a newborn foal. Lance pinned him with a half-angry, incredulous glare, biting down on the blistering remark as he rubbed at his shoulder. There was something in Keith's manner—some untold uncertainty—that made Lance pause in his instinctive reaction to snap to the defensive. Weapons or comfort. Weapons or comfort...

“I... Uh—you—you did good out there,” Keith managed, rubbing the back of his neck (under the mullet) as he refused to look at Lance, instead staring into the stars Lance had been meticulously watching only a moment earlier.

Lance blinked at him, hand stilling against his arm. “I'm—sorry, did you just say what I think you did? Was that a compliment?”

Keith turned, peering up at Lance through his bangs. The stardust reflected in his eyes, unwavering and ageless. “I—yeah. Yeah, you looked like you needed it, I guess?”

Lance felt himself bristle. He didn't need pity. But the hesitation in Keith's voice, the way he winced just slightly after the last thing he said, as if that wasn't what he meant, kept Lance from walking out of the room right there and then. Instead, he set his shoulders back, standing straight as he pinned a level gaze on the red paladin. Dark pupils that knew far more than they let on stared back. It occurred to Lance that, despite his lack of skill in social interaction, Keith was perceptive.

“Tell me again.”

“What?” Keith swallowed, steadied his voice against the waver lingering just underneath. “You did good today. In battle.”

Lance didn't completely know how to react, but he didn't expect the way the words twisted themselves around the core of his existence, lodged themselves there in absolute verity. He didn't realize how soon they would solidify into stone, carved into his heart, after so many times he'd tried to do the same for himself. How quickly Keith claimed his stake of Lance's affection, how quickly he somehow formed it into exactly what Lance needed.

“Thanks,” Lance finally said, hardly above a whisper. His mouth felt dry.

Keith breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I—I thought I was reading this wrong.” An airy laugh. “I still don't know where we stand so... I half expect you to push me away most of the time and—Lance are you okay?”

Lance blinked, and realized there was wetness along his cheeks. He tasted salt against his lips. The ocean, leaking, slipped across his face in gentle tracks as he felt his heart stutter and squeeze. “I'm... good,” he said, rubbing a sleeve across his eyes. “I just... really needed that, I suppose.”

“Oh,” said Keith. “I guess I'm better at this than I thought?”

“Yeah. Seems so.”

“I'll just—um—go, then.”

Lance's heart jumped into his throat, betrayed him in a moment where he was painfully reminded that words had meaning, had power. That words changed everything. “Stay,” his heart said, and Lance regained control over his voice a moment too late. Fear and apology thrummed through him, on the verge of escape.

But then: “Okay.”

Lance felt like he needed to fill the room with sound, as they both settled, sitting next to each other to stare into the vast of space, but Keith, who seemed to always be at war with words, either overeager or unsure in them, needed none to say what he meant now. Not when he had the softest of brushes of his fingers over Lance's, an anchor that Lance clung to. Something strong. Something permanent.

It occurred to Lance that maybe he didn't need a makeshift ocean in his eyes. As long as he had a universe to etch the good into—as long as he had Keith, to trace words of kindness and meaning onto, to have his velvet voice and violet gaze echo them back, then Lance could let the rest of it go. He didn't need an ocean when Keith was a gentle stream of honesty and care.

  
  


The next realization was this: Keith, with his fire and ferocity, sometimes needed a temper. Like molten metal, he sometimes needed someone to guide him—something fiercer in its nature but gentle in its correction, and willing to withstand the heat as it molded. 

Sometimes Keith needed an ocean.

“Does Allura know you're down here?” Lance asked mildly.

Keith didn't look over from where he was busy decapitating a training droid. He grunted a response, but the actual meaning behind it didn't matter. They both knew the answer already.

“You're supposed to be resting. That shoulder isn't completely healed yet,” Lance continued.

“I'm fine,” Keith insisted and rolled the shoulder in question for good measure. “Start—”

“End training sequence,” Lance ordered, overpowering Keith's voice. 

The action earned him a glare. 

“Start—”

“Don't,” Lance interrupted. “I changed the settings manually anyway. It won't work unless you go up to the control room.”

Keith huffed out a sound that may or may not have been a growl. “I'm not done.”

“Yes, you are,” Lance returned, level and sure. “It's late. You should be resting. And if my nose is anything to go by, you need a shower. Then sleep.”

“Lance,” Keith growled, a warning, but even Lance could tell how high-strung he was.

“Come here. Drop the sword; you don't need it.”

Keith frowned and glared across the room at Lance, but finally, with a defeated slump to his shoulders, he obeyed. His bayard clattered to the floor, and then he was unashamedly stepping into the circle of Lance's arms, clutching at his back and shoulders as the weight of it all crashed down around him. Lance held Keith as he broke, let the fury and vengeance run its course through him, washed it away with the gentle rhythm of his breathing. He let Keith rage against the sandy beach of Lance's heart, only to have the waves wash the damage away, replacing the ever-changing shoreline with new gifts from the deep.

“We were so close...” Keith hiccuped against Lance's shoulder.

“I know,” Lance breathed. “I know. Soon. Soon.”

Keith deflated against him, using Lance as a brace to hold him up. The tears soaked into Lance's clothes, returning to that which they knew—the salt of the sea. 

“Lance,” Keith gasped out, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, “Lance.”

“I'm here.”

“Thank you.” He took in a deep breath, let the sea breeze steady him. He offered Lance a small smile.

Lance returned the gesture, gaze soft, smile softer. “I know,” he breathed, and Keith went back to holding him. Lance caressed him with all the untamed power, gentle moonlit nights, and heartfelt memories of the ocean.

  
  


The next realization: Lance had more than a crush.

  
  


The final realization: Keith might have had a crush. Maybe more than that.

  
  


There were galaxies in Keith's eyes as he stormed towards Lance after a mission. The rest of the team paused in concern, ready to step in if things got too messy.

There was an ocean in Lance's gaze, ready and willing, as Keith grabbed him by the edge of his armor and tugged him down.

The vast and the depths, both untamed, both unknown. Dangerous, wild, unexplored. Serene in their beauty, comforting in their constancy, liberating in their uncertainty. Terrifying, stunning, worlds meant for dreamers to explore.

Their lips came together like waves at sea, like stars going supernova. They met with all the force of nature unbridled, and with all the words that poets attached to these unnamed places. Lance's heart swelled, burst, became a blackhole and dragged in all that it could from nearby—Keith and the lions and the other paladins and all the greatness of space and the meaning of their mission—and meanwhile Keith looked like he was drowning and would rather no other end except to fall under the surface of Lance's adoration and never return to see the light of day.

They parted, breathing hard, breathing in each other. The galaxies and the ocean, the universe and the sea. A perfect match in all their wild nature.

“Finally,” Lance breathed, and Keith socked him hard in the arm before dragging him down for another kiss.

But no—not the stars, not the ocean, regardless of what Lance saw in Keith's eyes or what stared back in the mirror. No, it's just them. Just Lance. Just Keith. They didn't need the transient ocean, nor the permanence of the stars, not when they had each other.

Not a realization, but a simple thought: they made a good team.


End file.
